


Angels Fall and Hunters Cry, Part 2

by destielismylovesong



Series: Angels Fall and Hunters Cry [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Destiel - Freeform, M/M, Parallel Lives, Parallel Universes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-02
Updated: 2013-08-02
Packaged: 2017-12-22 05:36:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/909520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/destielismylovesong/pseuds/destielismylovesong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“That’ll be four dollars and seventy-eight cents,” Castiel says, holding out his hand when the other man pulls his credit card out of his pocket. He takes it from him- and almost cries out in surprise when their hands touch briefly. Everything he’s ever tried to bury in the deep recesses of his heart and mind comes flooding back, screaming, clear, real.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Angels Fall and Hunters Cry, Part 2

**Author's Note:**

> On [Tumblr](http://destielismylovesong.tumblr.com/post/53621326748/angels-fall-and-hunters-cry-part-2)

 

Castiel sighs and bangs the calculator against his forehead in frustration. He hates this. He’d known, when he’d decided to open the diner, that before he'd be able to afford to hire someone, the job would include adding and subtracting- two things he absolutely hated with a passion- but he wonders now, as the numbers swim before his eyes, if this had been the right thing to do. Even after everything he’d been through, after everything his therapist had told him-

He hears the front door of the diner opening, interrupting his thoughts. He frowns and makes his way to the front of the restaurant, wondering who could be here at such an hour. His place is new, he knows, only a week old, and a regular nighttime clientele will have to be built patiently. So who’s here now, alone, when the diner a few blocks down is populated with actual living, breathing people?

He checks on the loaves of bread in the ovens on his way to the front, quickly making sure they were baking properly before pushing through the kitchen doors with a smile on his face. A genuine smile. Because even though he’s exhausted, and arithmetic wants to make him shout his frustration to the heavens, Angels Fall is his diner, his new life, his baby.

His smile falters as he faces the man who’d just stepped in and walked up to the counter. The man's eyes are a tangled forest of confusion as he takes in Castiel, staring. Castiel stares right back, cocking his head in wonder.

He knows this man. He knows him on a visceral level, knows him in the wings tattooed on his back and the grace that runs in his veins. He knows the quick play of expressions across his face, and the smooth lines of his body when he fights off an attack. He knows the taste of beer that has slowly dissipated over the years, and the smell of the Impala on his jacket.

No. No. He shakes himself out of it, straightening, looking away from the green eyes that are burning into him. He’s finished with this, with wings and grace. He’s been done for a long time now, on the road to recovery, away from the faceless man who’d haunted his whole life. And he’s not going to fall back into pieces of dreams and fantasies that are not real, that can never be real.

It’s been almost two years since his psychotic break. He’s not going to ruin that streak.

“What can I get you?” he asks the customer, forcing himself to think of him that way. A customer. Business. That’s all.

But the man standing across from him isn’t cooperating. His expression is changing rapidly, in that internal thought process that Castiel  _knows_. Concern chases across his face, followed by a small smile, and then a look of annoyance, possessiveness in his eyes as he looks at Castiel, who forces himself to ignore it. All of it. He has enough crazy to last a lifetime, and doesn’t need to take on this man’s as well.

“Sir?” he asks, uncaring of how impatient he sounds. Normally he’d kick himself for treating a customer like this, but he’d be satisfied if rudeness would keep him away from the diner. Forever.

The other man snaps out of it, looking at his name tag briefly before meeting his eyes again. Castiel can see his embarrassment, can see how quickly he wipes it away and tries to focus.

“I’ll uh, I’ll take a coffee, decaf,” he mumbles. “And a slice of pie. Whatever you’ve got.”

Castiel nods and turns around, heading back into the kitchen. There are pies out in the front, but despite his firm instructions to himself to get this customer out of here as soon as possible, his heart and body disobey, wanting to give him the best of service, to see him smile. He slices a fresh piece of pecan pie and boxes it up, then fills a paper cup with his own freshly-made coffee, all the while muttering to himself about what an idiot he’s being. If his therapist could see him now, she'd open her calendar to see how quickly she could get him in for an appointment.

He kicks the kitchen door open with his foot, stepping out with the man’s food and drink and placing it on the counter with a tight smile. He has to be somewhat polite, he’s decided, or this man could tell others that the new place was owned by a dick.

He rings him up, smile still held firmly in place, and looks at the total. “That’ll be four dollars and seventy-eight cents,” he says, holding out his hand when the other man pulls his credit card out of his pocket. He takes it from him-

And almost cries out in surprise when their hands touch briefly. Everything he’s ever tried to bury in the deep recesses of his heart and mind comes flooding back, screaming, clear,  _real_. Dean-  _yes, Dean, this is Dean, he remembers now_ \- looks like he's going to fall over, so Castiel grasps his hand in his own, crushing his fingers in his grip.

“Dean?” He feels the tears in his eyes, knows that they’re audible in his voice. But he doesn’t care. Dean.  _Dean_. His name is Dean, and he’s real. Everything that he’s ever dreamed of, every vague memory that has ever jolted him in the middle of class, church, family dinner- it's all real.  _Dean is real._

The memories are clear now, Dean’s face available to him. The pain shoots into him as he remembers the other life he’d lived, the happiness that had been stolen from him by a demon who’d ripped Dean’s throat out. He’d held him in his arms as he’d died, begging him not to go, not to leave him.

“I’m useless without you!” he remembers crying, holding Dean’s body to his own. The ground had been cold, and for some reason, his top priority had been to make sure that Dean wasn't chilled. “I don’t need my wings,  _please_  Dean, please  _don’t leave me_. I don’t need my  _wings_  or my  _grace_ , I just need  _you_ , please.”

He remembers the kiss. Their first and only kiss. He’s gone over that kiss in his mind a thousand times over, trying to remember the face of the person he’d loved more than his essence, the person who’d left him, his soul, alone and shattered for eternity without him. He’d felt Dean’s last breath against his lips.

Now he’s here. He can see his face. The forest in his eyes, the freckles he desperately wants to sit and count, the shocked countenance that was at a standstill for once, the wonder in his eyes as he touches his arm, searching for the brand of an angel.

Castiel knows, instinctively, what he’s thinking. All of the times that Castiel had reached out to him, needing to be near to him physically, needing the feel of him in his hand. His jaw, his temple, his shoulder, his torso. Dean’s hugs, he remembers, are home.

He doesn’t realize that he’s staring until Dean snaps out of his own reverie, jumping up and across the counter to Castiel. Suddenly he’s in front of Castiel, his nose almost touching his, and tears come to Castiel's eyes as he remembers.  _Cas. We’ve talked about this. Personal space?_

He continues to stare at Dean as they stand there, neither knowing what to think or say or do. 

“Dean?” The name is finally ripped out of him again, and he’s broken, pleading, not knowing how to simultaneously handle Dean’s death and his presence here. It hurts, more than he’d ever thought imaginable when he’d been younger and had begged God to show him the face of the man in his dreams. “Dean, please, I don’t know- I can’t-“

“Cas,” Dean breathes. “Cas-“

All Castiel wants is the feeling of Dean's lips against his again. Not in death- in life, in passion, in love. His body is moving already, a step ahead of his thoughts, and he crushes his lips against Dean's, cutting off what he'd been about to say. The kiss is hard and tender at the same time, his fear of losing Dean again apparent in his desperation. His hunter responds without hesitation, groaning against his lips and surrounding him in an embrace. Castiel is pulled in against Dean's body, and Dean budges him slightly. They stagger backwards, Castiel held firmly in Dean's arms, until his back hits the wall.

Dean's lips are hot, burning against his, and he arches into the kiss, into Dean, his hands running over Dean's arms, shoulders, his neck, searching for solidity, for something to hold on to. He reaches Dean's hair, running through it desperately, aching to burrow into him. Dean's tongue thrusts against his and Castiel touches his fingers to the curve of Dean's ears, tracing over them, rubbing one thumb against Dean's temple in a sensual pattern while the other brushes against his cheek and rests there.

Dean pulls back, and Castiel almost whines in frustration, needing to feel the warmth of his lips against his own. But Dean speaks, his voice low and urgent, and Castiel forgets his own needs.

"Cas?" Dean whispers. "Cas, it's you, right? It's you, you're here, with me. You're here?" Castiel's heart shatters at the break in Dean's voice, and he pulls him in, directing Dean's head to the crook of his shoulder, his need for his lips turning into a need to comfort. 

"I'm here," Castiel murmurs, wishing for a way to express his permanence to the man in his arms. Dean presses a kiss to his throat, and he shudders, moving against Dean's body, almost forgetting to continue to reassure him. "I'm here, Dean, it's me."

"How-"

But Castiel doesn't want to question. He doesn't want to think of the years of therapy and institutions and drugs pumped into his veins. He doesn't want to think about all the years he could've been searching for this man instead of being convinced that he was insane. So he cuts off Dean's question, angling the other man's head back and brushing his lips across his gently, comfortingly, despite the desperation thrumming in his body. He feels Dean relax against him, and Castiel's desperation dims when he realizes Dean's eyes are closed, his body curling into Castiel's, trusting him to love him. 

He runs his hands over Dean's body, his hips, his waist, his hands. He twines his fingers in his for a moment, and Dean sighs against him. Castiel lets go, running his hands up Dean's arms and wrapping them around his neck. He pulls his lips back and peeks at Dean from under his eyelashes, smiling at the look of contentment on his face.

"I don't know," he whispers, knowing Dean will eventually need an answer from him. "I don't know, Dean, but it doesn't matter."

Dean's lips reach for Castiel's again, and Castiel leans in to meet them, murmuring sweetly against them, words of love and souls and a life together. He trails his lips against Dean's jaw, but pauses when Dean speaks.

"Just don't go," Dean pleads softly. "Don't go. Stay with me, Cas, okay? I need you."

Can a heart break twice within a matter of minutes? The question runs through Castiel's mind, fleeting, and he presses a kiss to Dean's throat before leaning back to meet his gaze.

"I'm not going anywhere," Castiel says firmly, hoping his conviction shows in his expression. "Dean-" he presses a soft kiss to Dean's forehead, wishing for words to articulate his emotions. They come to him almost immediately. "You are my  _grace_  and my  _wings_. I will always be here to watch over you."


End file.
